


If I Could Turn Back Time

by TracyLouiseHeart (TheForkingSupreme)



Series: Past Meets Present [2]
Category: Ocean's 8 (2018)
Genre: Backstory, F/F, Teen Debbie, baby Tammy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-10-10 10:02:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20526182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheForkingSupreme/pseuds/TracyLouiseHeart
Summary: Debbie Ocean did not have a lot of expectations about what would happen when she got arrested. Or rather, she might have if she’d ever taken to the time to consider this eventuality. One might have thought that it would be the natural consequence of having seen several close family members suffer the same fate as a result of pursuing the same line of work, but apparently Debbie still thought that she was special. What she certainly did not expect was to be visited by an old friend on the occasion of her incarceration.A detective (OC) comes to see Debbie in prison, and it's someone she hadn't counted on seeing, and certainly not in this capacity. A look back at some of the hijinks that Debs was up to during her teen years interwoven with scenes from her adult life.





	If I Could Turn Back Time

**Author's Note:**

> So...this is a random idea that's been kicking around. Since I've got another work going that touches on what Lou was up to during her teen years, I thought I'd take a crack at Debbie's, too. I think based on the scant description I provided of Deb/Tam in that story (Too Late, Baby Now) it can exist within the same universe, and I kind of like that idea. It's also a very different take on young Debbie than I've written before.

[September 2012]

Debbie Ocean did not have a lot of expectations about what would happen when she got arrested. Or rather, she might have if she’d ever taken to the time to consider this eventuality. One might have thought that it would be the natural consequence of having seen several close family members suffer the same fate as a result of pursuing the same line of work, but apparently Debbie still thought that she was special. What she certainly did not expect was to be visited by an old friend on the occasion of her incarceration. 

Debbie was led to a metal chair in a sparse interrogation room. The room had grey-green walls and was furnished only by a metal table with an affixed ring to which her handcuffs were secured, the chair that she sat, and two identical chairs on the opposite side. A single, harsh fluorescent light flickered periodically above. There was a one-way mirror built into the wall facing Deb. The guard left her to her own devices for a moment, without telling her why she was here or who had come to visit. 

The woman who entered had a distinct New York flair. There was a swagger to her walk, which caused her long, golden curls to cascade around her in a particular manner which seemed almost choreographed. There was a small golden cross nestled between her cleavage, which was framed by a white button-up shirt under form-fitting navy suit. Clipped her right pant pocket was a badge indicating her NYPD-visitor status, partially obscured by a decently sized ring of keys dangling from a belt loop. Debbie lifted her eyes to the cop’s face just as she raised a pair of mirrored aviators and propped them on top of her head, revealing a flawless face of makeup- and exactly what Debbie expected- a dramatic, precise black cat-eye with a subtle taupe shadow and white highlight beneath perfectly arched brows, and classic red lip.

“Ms. Ocean? Detective Francesca Buoncuore. I’d like to ask you a few questions about fraudulent activities undertaken by one Claude Becker. I understand you’ve already spoken to federal agents about some similar charges, but NYPD is launching an investigation on some matters within our jurisdiction.”

“Heya Frank, long time no see,” Deb replied with a smirk. 

[September 1980]

The sun was starting to set and a chill was setting in as six-year-old Tammy sat on the swingset waiting for her babysitter to return. Her chin-length hair fell in loose, dirty blonde waves, her slightly sweaty baby hairs coiled into tight tiny ringlets. A purple plaid bow held the top section of her hair back from her eyes. The bow matched her jumper, which she wore over a white turtleneck. She kicked scuffed her black Mary Janes against the packed dirt beneath the swing. It was the first day of first grade and it had gone about as well as kindergarten- which is to say, not very well at all. She was the youngest in her class, and one of the smallest- not to mention a bit chubby and extremely shy. And she had a lisp…which made her even shyer. 

As the only child in her home (her older half-sister lived with her mother most of the time), Tammy was used to spending a fair amount of time on her own. She pushed her glasses up her nose and looked over towards the sandbox where a mom was bundling up a toddler and tucking her carefully into a stroller. Tammy pushed her swing back as far as she could trying to swing higher. She pumped her little legs with all of her might, swinging so high that the frame started to shake. She knew, from experience, that she was getting close to the top. She could see the gazebo from this height- and even inside of it. She stopped pumping her legs as she felt the chains rattle more aggressively, but the swing was going too fast, the chains dropping in a way that felt wrong. Tammy was terrified but didn’t know what to do. She could scream, but that wouldn’t stop the swing. And besides, she wasn’t even sure that anyone would hear her.

-

Debbie, seventeen, who was supposed to be watching Tammy, was distracted. This had become increasingly common over the past year or so. Debbie, it seemed, had a number of amorous engagements at any given time, and these exploits occupied a lot more of her energy than playing with a much younger child. Unfortunately, romance didn’t pay quite as well. Deborah Ocean did not exactly have a reputation for responsibility, to put it lightly. The majority of her mental energy was expended on means of acquiring new music or clothes, which parties to go to, and who to go out with on which night. Essentially, it was all about how Deb could get what she wanted, and whom she could manipulate in order to get there. Sometimes this meant simple shoplifting and pickpocketing, but other times it was beneficial to have a few lackeys- and she found the easiest way to achieve this was through flirtation. She’d been a dancer from a young age, and in so doing, she’d learned how to use her body as a tool. She’d learned at least as much simply from travelling to and from her dance lessons in Manhattan looking the way that she did, clad in a leotard and leggings.

Debbie was off in the gazebo off the playground, messing around with a couple of “friends.” The top portion of Deb’s hair was pulled up into a high ponytail towards the right side of her head, loose, long bangs partially obscuring her field of vision, the remainder of her long, dark hair fell in loose curls as a result of a recent perm. Her deep, thick black eyeliner made her deep brown eyes appear lighter, a warm chocolaty-amber combination rather than the deep, near black they ordinary appeared to be. She was flushed from dancing as she rolled to the floor, hands pinned above her head by…someone. It could’ve been Chris, her current boyfriend, maybe Vicky, her “best friend,” or else…Matt. There was a fair amount of pot involved, a little bit of acid, and some purloined peach schnapps- along with cherry chapstick, tongues, groping… A Pat Benatar album played from a battery-operated boom box. Debbie had very little idea what was happening, or if she really wanted it to, but it seemed all in good fun. It failed to occur to her, however, that she had other responsibilities to attend to.

Debbie had been babysitting Tammy since Tammy turned two, and although she’d never been especially invested in the job, she’d always gotten along exceptionally well with Tammy’s sister, Frankie. This was largely because their families were intertwined for a number of reasons. Tammy’s father was Debbie’s father’s righthand man. By contrast, Frankie’s maternal grandfather, Donatello Buoncuore, was the head of a Sicilian crime syndicate which disapproved of the Oceans’ more mild-mannered code of conduct and how the Oceans always seemed to be encroaching on their marks and territories. If that weren’t enough, many of the Buoncuore’s businesses were properties targeted by the Oceans- particularly after Frankie’s parents’ marriage dissolved. Rather than bringing the families closer, if anything the failed union drove them farther apart. 

-

Francesca Buoncuore was not a fan of New Jersey suburbs. At least, not a fan of what she’d seen in this one. She was used her very Italian Queens neighborhood where she knew everyone and their business, where everyone was family. Here, in her father’s neighborhood, everything seemed so boring. There was no intrigue, and worst of all, no sense that she owned the place. Rather, if anything, it seemed like nobody owned the streets- and that just didn’t track with what Frankie was used to. It wasn’t as though Frankie knew anything of the feud between the two families or what exactly the family business entailed- but she was a teenager, and although self-absorbed, was not entirely stupid. She had her suspicions. But Big Dick White, her father (whose last name Donatello had refused to allow his kin to adopt), had that Ocean girl over an awful lot considering the amount of shit she heard about the Oceans back home.

Frankie flicked a long, loose strand of golden blonde highlighted hair over her deeply tanned, slender shoulder. She rearranged her bangs with her right hand, which also bore a lit cigarette. She adjusted the knot of the red bandana she’d tied about her head like a headband. She swiped at a patch of dried mud on the side of her platformed combat boot before swatting at a lingering mosquito, clearly a holdover from August’s recent departure. Frankie wiped her hands on her torn jeans before pulling at the hem of a modified black Aerosmith t-shirt so she could judge whether she’d cut the v neck low enough. She’d been informed a couple of weeks before that she’d be spending the fall semester living with her father after an exceptionally heated fight with her mother (she’d gotten a tattoo on her left shoulder- a heart with a lightning bolt through it). Well, informed was the delicate way of putting it. She’d actually been kicked out of the house, all parties involved screaming and crying- and the bag that her mother had thrown out the front door before locking Frankie out had a train ticket to New Jersey attached, along with a highlighted train schedule and cab fare.

She was smoking in the woods behind the park when she heard an eerie, light…almost unnatural screech of metal against metal- like you might expect from a horror movie. It almost sounded, Frankie thought, the way the swings did when Tammy—oh shit. Frankie knew her baby sister was at the park, and from what she’d observed, after early afternoon the swings were rarely populated (by anyone other than Tammy) until well after dark, when the teens were out and about. She also knew Tammy often swung too high- Tammy had almost flipped herself once on Frankie’s watch. 

Frankie stubbed out her cigarette on a large rock and ran towards the swings. She’d barely taken five steps when she heard Tammy cry out. Despite Frankie’s frequently claims that she hated her little half-sister, she actually loved her deeply. Tammy was her babydoll- but she’d never let anyone know. This was in part to protect her mother’s feelings, but also because, well, she didn’t want everyone to know what a softie she was. That wouldn’t exactly be cool. In any event, Frankie sprinted towards her sister, kneeling down beside her.

“Oh baby, what happened?” she asked, surveying the sight before her. The swing had, in fact, flipped all the way around, apparently launching a tumbling Tammy over a couple hundred feet of dirt and gravel. She was covered in dirty and scratches and had curled up so tightly into a ball that it was impossible to tell if anything was broken. At the sound of Frankie’s voice, and the feel of Frankie’s hand on her shoulder, Tammy launched herself into her sister’s lap, clinging to her while sobbing. On first glance, Tammy seemed mostly okay, miraculously, but when she moved, Frankie could see that there was a pretty nasty gash on the back of her head that was gushing blood. 

“Oh…um…okay…um…where’s Debbie, sweetie?”

“I don’t know!” Tammy wailed.

“Okay, shh. It’ll be okay. We’ll take the shortcut through the woods and we’ll get you all patched up, okay pumpkin?”

Tammy sniffled and gave a small nod. 

Debbie sauntered over towards Tammy, having been vaguely aware of the commotion, but clearly not quite in her right mind. 

“Franks? That you? What’re you doing here?” Debbie slurred, half-giggling. Frankie flared her nostrils, holding Tammy tighter against her chest. 

“Not now Debs. I need to get Tammy to the hospital.”

Tammy glared at Debbie and growled like a dog, then barked. Debbie frowned.

“S’not a dog is it? Tammy’s not a dog?” Debbie asked, seeming earnest.

“Look, Ocean, you fucked up. You were supposed to watch Tammy and you didn’t, now she needs a doctor. I don’t really give a fuck whether you come with or not, but I need to get her to the hospital. Now.” Frankie started back through the expanse of trees towards her car. Debbie ran to catch up, mostly staggering both from being under the influence, and because her heels kept sinking into the soft mud. Frankie eyed the lucite platform stilettos. “Highly impractical disco throwback, weirdo,” she said, securing Tammy in the back seat. Tammy giggled as Frankie ticked her and kissed her nose. Debbie glared at Frankie as Frankie shut the back door.

“I dunno what you just said but I feel like it was mean.”

“Just get in the fucking car, Ocean.”

“’’Mkay.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm curious to know what your thoughts are on this concept! There would be a lot more action in future chapters, but if you're interested in what else Debs might've been up to, let me know!!


End file.
